


Sweet Lovin'

by MagicalStranger13



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 09:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3644874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalStranger13/pseuds/MagicalStranger13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bog's sprained arm hasn't quite healed.  What can Marianne do to help?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Lovin'

**Author's Note:**

> After I saw 'Strange Magic', my Dad and I went to the theater and saw the Alfred Hitchcock classic, 'Rear Window' for Fathom Events. I got inspired by the first scene between James Stewart and Grace Kelly. Hope you like it 'Strange Magic' fans! This is my first post on AO3, so please be gentle!

The sun had finally vanished below the tree line and, as a result, the Dark Forest was abuzz with activity.  The frogs and insects began their songs of welcome for the coming evening.  The goblin subjects eagerly awaited moonrise for their usual hunts and brawls, but in the meantime, busied themselves with the far more important task of erecting a new castle. 

A much thicker and taller oak stump, a literal stone’s throw away from where the old fortress had stood, was currently being modeled into the perfect replacement. 

For miles around, one could see trails of goblins hauling rocks, bones and slabs of wood to the stump.  Sounds of pounding, carving and digging echoed through the trees almost to the border.  Snarling laughter and excited babbling increased with the darkness.                 

Despite the growing energy, there was one place in this land of shadows and hidden wonders where all was quiet and still.

In an outpost, not far from the construction site, the twilight hour found the Bog King reclining on a chair of bark and animal hide, his spindly legs propped upon an oblong and non-sentient mushroom.  Directly beside the chair, was a small table.  Sitting on its surface, was a wad of cotton serving as a pillow for Bog’s left arm.

Despite his mother’s nagging, he had adamantly refused to be confined to bed rest.

 _I’m not an invalid, mother!_ He’d argued only a few hours ago.  _You heard the doctor, it’s just a sprain._

 _It would’ve stopped hurting days ago if you’d just sat still and let it heal like I told you!_ Griselda'd griped right back.  _But no!  You just had to go and swing that staff around and make it worse.  Hmph!  Stubbornness.  You get it all from your father._   

_Mum, you know I can’t just sit around and do nothin'!  There’s a ton of work to be done!_

_For your information, mister, I was an outstanding queen WAY before you came along!  I think I can handle overseeing construction for a few hours while you sleep!  Now you shut your trap and take your pills, this instant!  I want you to look and feel your best when your sweetheart comes tonight!_

So to put a stop to the squawking, Bog compromised.  He agreed to a nap, but only in the _chair_ , and he took some more medicine: willow twigs ground to a fine powder; a painkiller native to the Dark Forest.

The dying day cast slants of burnt orange light into the room through the open window.  Flecks of dust danced within the rays like a snow flurry.  The Dark Forest hummed with life outside.

Gradually, Bog stirred from his slumber.  His stomach groaned, but he felt too heavy to move just yet.  Tendrils of medicated drowsiness still clung to him like a spider’s web.  His sleep had not been deep, still he’d dreamed of sparking swords and purple wings soaring under the moon.  

It had been five and a half days since that strange and magical night. 

Speaking of which, as Bog continued to blink away the exhaustion from his eyes, he became aware of a feminine figure moving towards him.  The non-goblin shape, coupled with the flash of pink and amethyst bouncing off the butterfly wings as they crossed the glowing paths of sunset, left no doubt in his mind as to the visitor’s identity.

Bog watched as the clear and lovely form of Marianne came to stand at his footrest.  The pause was thankfully short-lived, for she then crawled up his body with all the grace and sensuality of a lizard.

To accommodate his size, the chair was plenty large enough for the two of them.  Marianne draped herself over his right side once they were eye-level. 

Without a word, she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his.

Bog was not disturbed nor embarrassed by her forwardness; quite the opposite actually.

For the past few days, this had been part of the norm between them.  Marianne would come and help out with the building, have dinner with him, and since sparring was out of the question until his arm completely healed (doctor’s _and_ mother’s orders), they’d go stretch their wings and usually end up doing something like _this_. 

Even if their relationship was as young as springtime itself, the awareness of the mutual and  _real_ love between them encouraged exploration; in the mental, emotional…and _physical_ sense.  They were still taking their time, but they weren’t moving at a snail’s pace either.  And they were both adults.  Adults that, as it turns out, were secretly yearning for the love they thought they despised. 

Besides, they both liked breaking rules.  Society be damned.

As if to underscore the point, Bog’s large hands curled over Marianne’s ribs as she tilted her head to deepen the kiss.  Mouths parted and he growled as his fangs scraped her bottom lip.  His tongue swiped at her own and he tasted mint and berry juice.  Whatever _she_ tasted must have pleased her, judging from the way she cupped his neck and mewled.           

When it was over, she stayed close enough so that her swollen lips brushed against his as she spoke.

“How’s your arm?”

Her breath was warm jasmine and it took all of his willpower not to shiver like an autumn leaf.   

“Still hurts a wee bit.”

She kissed him again and stroked a comforting thumb just above his left elbow.  Both actions did more to sooth the ache than those silly willow tablets had done in days.

“And your stomach?” she asked, once they parted again. 

Clawed fingers rose up and carefully interlocked over her lower back.

“Empty as a bubble.”

Another kiss, then Bog’s eyes fluttered slightly as Marianne moved to graze her lips across his cheekbones.  Her hands gently massaged his plated chest.    

“And your love life?”

He smirked in mischief, unable to resist a joke as her affections now traveled the length of his prickly jaw.

“Mm, not too active.”

She grinned at the tease, scrunching her nose in the cutest way before quickly kissing him a fourth time.

“Uh huh, is there anything else bothering you?” she purred, pulling back to give the end of his sharp nose a playful nip.

“Yeah…”

She quirked a coy eyebrow and his hands slid up to frame her heart-shaped face.  He gazed into her amber depths, marveling at the fact that this fairy beauty, this warrior princess, this wild thing, was indeed _not_ a dream. 

“…who are you?"

She giggled quietly and delivered a soft punch to his right shoulder, but did not refuse his game.

“The name's Princess Marianne of the Fairy Kingdom.” She proudly stated, tracing her nails across the scales covering his head.  “Heir to the throne and sole defeater of the _evil_ Bog King.”

“Sorry, Tough Girl.” Said king chuckled, letting his palms come to her shoulders.  “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

In a flash, Bog found his arms pinned above his head and his hips firmly straddled.  He barely had time to blink in surprise before he noticed the blazing expression on the princess’s face. 

Marianne, eyes now alight with golden fire, was glaring down at him with that fierce determination he loved so much.  The intensity of her gaze was eased only by the devilish smile adorning her plum mouth. 

“Well then,” she murmured, leaning down to steadily run the tip of her tongue against the edge of Bog’s pointed ear, “I think I’ll just refresh your memory.”

With that, the ruler of the Dark Forest immediately dispensed his willpower in favor of happily trembling and writhing beneath the ministrations of his fairy love, sore arm and empty stomach completely forgotten.    

 

 


End file.
